Just a poor old dog

I was given two signs that night which told me what I was doing was wrong.
The first was when we were caught, right in the middle of the act. It had never felt so good, but as quickly as it had started lights shone into the backseat window and we knew we were found. But the second, the thing that really made me believe, was that big black dog. Bigger than I've ever seen, trotting down the middle of the four-lane street. It was late and the road was deserted. I turned my car around as fast as I could and followed him back down the hill. I called out to him and tried to coax him into my car, thinking I could save him somehow. He froze and looked at me nervously for a few moments before running off down an alleyway where I couldn't follow him. And he was right to run from me.